can undertake; and this is no hypocrisy, nor can the Omniscient--if that great spirit of nature be indeed capable of human passions--feel anger at the act, when I solemnly declare that all I have on earth--and more than I could wish of earthly happiness--I would this instant barter for the meek inviolable faith of Jean Sebastian." The words were spoken at the door of the baron's residence, which we had already reached. My hand was in that of the speaker. He had taken it in the act of wishing me farewell. I grasped his palm affectionately, and answered-- "Why then, my friend, should you not possess this enviable blessing?" "Because I cannot struggle against conviction: because _faith_ is not subject to the _will_: because I know too little and too much: because I cannot grasp a shadow, or palpably discern by day an evanescent, albeit a lovely, dream of night. These are my reasons. Let us dismiss the subject." And the subject _was_ dismissed never to be taken up again. From this time forward, our theological disputations ceased. The baron forbore his wit, and the good Cause was spared my feeble advocacy. Whether the baron suspected that, after all, there might be inconsistency in continuing to laugh at all religion whilst he persevered in visiting the church, or whether the seeds of a new and better growth of things began already to take root within him, I cannot take upon me to decide. To my relief and comfort, the solemn argument was never again profaned by ribaldry and unbecoming mirth; and, to my unfeigned delight, the teacher and the pupil were without one let or hinderance to their perfect sympathy and friendship. A year has elapsed since, in the manner shown, I received the key to so many of the baron's seeming inconsistencies--when, as we were passing one morning into the _Salle St Agnes_ at the _Hotel Dieu_, we were surprised to find, standing at the door of the ward--the venerable and humble minister of Auvergne. His face brightened at the approach of the baron, and he bowed respectfully in greeting him. "What brings you here again, old friend?" enquired the surgeon; "no relapse, I trust?" "Gratitude," replied the priest. A large basket was on his arm--his shoes were covered with dust--he had journeyed far on foot. "It is a year since I left this roof with my life restored to me, under God's blessing, by you. I could not let the anniversary slip away without paying you a visit, and bringing you a trifling present. It is scarcely worth your acceptance--but it is the best my grateful heart can offer, and I though you would receive it kindly. A few chickens from the poultry-yard, and a little fruit from the orchard." The baron received the gift with a better grace than I had seen him accept a much handsomer fee. He invited the priest to his house, detained him there for some hours, and dismissed him with many presents for the poor amongst his flock at Auvergne.